Mask
by The Ice Blood Alchemist
Summary: Every one of them had a mask to hide behind, to keep them safe and from further harm. Chapter Five: The Vice-Captain of the Fifth Division, Hinamori Momo, had a mask.
1. Unohana Retsu

Mask

* * *

The Mask of Unohana Retsu

* * *

 **Disclaimer: If I owned Bleach, terrible things would be happening.**

 ** **A/N: I won't be doing every single character in the entire Bleach series—that might cost me my social life—but most popular characters and several obscure characters will be brought in. I need suggestions though! Of whose mask will be analyzed next! Ichigo will purposely be last. I will be doing... I would say around twenty or thirty chapters, because I love character analysis.****

* * *

The Captain of the Fourth Division, Unohana Retsu, had a mask.

It wasn't material, of course. She had a mask that she slid on everywhere she went. Second instinct.

When she was healing someone, she secured it. She couldn't afford to panic, to show any hint of fear or uncertainty. Healing meant undoing what was done. Nothing more. If she fell apart, so would the others.

When she was following into war, she tugged it further over her face, over her emotions, over her heart. Even a second of hesitation meant lives lost. Stepping back from this moment, turning her back on the battle, was suicide. She would destroy herself if she did that. She could never turn away from the agonized screams of those she cared for.

When she was alone, alive, she dropped it. Let it slip from her numb fingers like she didn't care.

Which she did, of course. She cared so much that if she let go of her mask for a single moment, she would never rein herself again. And even if she did, she would be mended crookedly, improperly. She was in danger of lashing out more than she had been before she'd dropped the walls and embraced the storm.

Unohana Retsu was a character, certainly. Lovely and genteel **[1]** , but harmless, because everything in the world that she loved were so horribly _defenseless_. Every one thing that was threatened was another jab at her mask.

Isane was the only person who really knew. How to remove the mask without hurting her Captain.

She knew because she'd seen Unohana falling apart at the seams, and before she knew it her hands were cupping Unohana's face, and then she had her arms around the older woman, wrapped around each other, on the darkened room floor, **[2]** crying their hearts out, Isane not knowing what for but crying to share her superior's pain, Unohana to rid herself of the heartache that she felt every moment.

Later that day, Unohana allowed a whole group of the Eleventh Division members to go back to their quarters, much to the incredulity of other members of her own division.

Only Isane caught the slight twitch that promised pain.

Then the Winter War blew in. Aizen, the traitor, ruined their worlds and mangled everyone who dared to oppose him.

Her hands shook and her voice became bitter, but she held on, keeping her mask firmly in place with both hands as she stitched profusely bleeding wounds, pressed herbs upon panicking fellows, tossed her hair back without bothering to tie it and defying the world in that she could heal even the most life-threatening injuries.

Isane kept her together, handing over the needle with the pressure of respect and friendship, passing the herbs without Unohana ever opening her mouth to call for them, braided back her hair patiently as the other worked feverishly. It was the ultimate form of loyalty, what Isane was showing, her eyes gentle and caring.

When the war was won, Unohana dropped the bundle of bandages she was carrying in her arms and threw them around Isane with vigor. Isane, startled into stillness, stood completely frozen for a few moments before she realized that her Captain was trembling, and Isane couldn't help but smile as she responded.

Unohana's mask had dropped for the last time.

[...]

"Isane, could you please get the tea?"

"With the— _ahem **herb** ahem_—Of course, Captain Unohana."

"Alright, thank you."

"Hey, Captain Unohana, I was wondering what's going on between you and... Vice-Captain Isane?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, I can practically hear the sexual tension, Captain Unohana..."

 _"Would you care to repeat that, Vice Captain Rangiku?"_

" _Gulp_ —No ma'am..."

* * *

 **[1] Yes, it's actually a word, not a typo. Means: Polite, refined, or respectable, often in an affected or ostentatious way.**

 **[2] I heard that. Pervert.**


	2. Hitsugaya Toshiro

Mask

* * *

The Mask of Hitsugaya Toshiro

* * *

 **Disclaimer: If I owned Bleach, honey we wouldn't be talkin'.**

 **To Mondtanz: It's interesting you brought it up; it was what I was going to do in the first place, the deadly personas of all the Gotei 13. But then I thought more about the emotional parts that contributed to such bloodlust, and, yeah, this happened. Thank you very much for reviewing!**

 **Nobody told me what character to do so my choice! :)) Captain Hitsugaya's mask is a bit more choppy because of what he'd had to endure, and especially because he's, well, a child. His thoughts are more jaunty and disconnected, and he's got the typical hero complex: "everything that goes wrong is my fault".**

* * *

The Captain of the Tenth Division, Hitsugaya Toshiro, had a mask.

His was a bit different than most, a rarer brand. He never put his mask down. Even if he had to nail it down to keep it from trembling, even if he was on the verge of a breakdown and he had to go to desperate measures, the only time he was truly honest with himself was when he fell asleep.

So he didn't do that much, either, despite Matsumoto's protests and his sluggishly-growing height of 133 centimeters.

There was one time, one horrible time when he had stabbed Hinamori.

 _Nonono._

The words he had whispered brokenly to himself then, aimed at Aizen, haunted him now.

 _I will kill you._

He had screamed, he remembered vaguely. Then pain.

Captain Hitsugaya, if anything, had a bad childhood. Shunned, different, and having to kill his childhood friend, over what Central 46 decided, no less.

 _Please._

What he had said to Kurosaki Ichigo in that moment of utter desperation was the closest he'd ever come to dropping his mask. He'd caught it at the last second, clapped it to his face, holding it there throughout the vast majority of the time.

As soon as Kusaka was gone, he felt himself falling apart. And of course Kurosaki had to be there, watching the young prodigy go to pieces.

 _Shitshitshit._

He held it together until he was back in his own quarters, clutching his steadily-bleeding abdomen, and he collapsed onto his couch, his shoulders shaking, terrified by the close brush with death he'd had.

No, it wasn't the dance with death he was afraid of. He'd had far too many of those to the point of numbness. He was afraid of the hatred that Kusaka had aimed at him, the hatred that he had thought his best friend had died carrying.

And of course Matsumoto had to walk in. _Damn_.

"C-Captain?" She said, hesitantly, and before he could stop himself, Toshiro began, "Mo—"

He paused, biting his lip, his fingers curling into the injury despite the pain. Matsumoto had frozen, staring first at his face, then at the profusely bleeding wound, then Toshiro was staring at the wall opposite of him with a thin trail of tears cutting his cheek, while Matsumoto clutched his haori, crying, for her captain who would never give up, for Gin, who would never come back, and for the name Toshiro almost called her, one that she would never be called again.

Shinigami quickly noted that Captain Hitsugaya had begun to call his Vice-Captain "Rangiku".

Certain rumors were spread and after several incidents with tears, pain, ice and strife, Captain Unohana subtly dropped Captain-Commander Yamamoto a hint that he should do something quickly before Captain Hitsugaya murdered the entire population of the Seireitei.

Toshiro and Matsumoto went back to surname terms.

The next day was devoted to thawing the majority of the other Division's barracks.

Then the Winter War swept in. His voice grew hoarse and his turquoise eyes dulled, but he kept moving forward, refusing to turn back. Aizen deserved death. He deserved nothing good of the world that he'd torn apart. Hinamori... Was just... A setback.

 _Stop lying to yourself._

When the war was won, he dropped to his knees and clutched Hyourinmaru to his chest, trembling.

 _All over. Finally over. The nightmare has ended._

Matsumoto couldn't help a slight smile as she draped her Captain's bloodstained haori over his shoulders.

Toshiro's mask had dropped for the last time.

[...]

"Rangiku... Why are you sleeping in my office?"

"'M drunk, Toshiro. S'not obvious?"

"...Well, _now_ it's obvious. You're drooling all over the couch."

"This thing? S'not a good couch if y'got it in y'r office, Toshiro."

"Rangiku, you have no taste."

"I got good taste in men! Men! Gin was a pig though!"

"..."

"...Toshiro... R'you crying?"

"No, stupid—I'm laughing—pfft!"

"Y'r whut?"

"Ffffft... I wish you could hear yourself."


	3. Ichimaru Gin

Mask

* * *

The Mask of Ichimaru Gin

* * *

 **Disclaimer: If Bleach belonged to me, I think the most accurate statement would be that I would destroy the world with my ravings of injured Ichigo.**

 **To Kenzie Perth: Alrighty! I'm not sure about Matsumoto but Kira will most likely be here, despite being an obscure character. Gin is the easiest to read out of all three in my humble opinion, so Gin came first to make my life easier.**

* * *

Ex-Captain of the Third Division, Ichimaru Gin, had a mask.

His was possibly the most obscure of his fellows. He had an impenetrable barrier of the strongest steel forged around his heart. Rangiku... She was different. He and she lived in the Rukongai together, loved each other more than anything in the world.

But Gin had seen an opportunity. That Shinigami that he had killed was an opportunity to introduce Rangiku to a world of no famine, of full bellies and warmth, where no cruelty existed and he could protect her.

Standing beside Aizen, he carefully pieced together every part of his plan. One mistake and it was all going to be over; Aizen wasn't renowned for his mercy. Cunning had always been Gin's strongest suit, but it was part of the mask—all part of the mask.

The deepest part of him dreamed of a wide open meadow and a laughing Rangiku. No shihakusho, no Vice-Captain armband, just his happy Rangiku.

The rest of him doggedly reminded him that until his plan was executed, that vision would never become reality.

His fingers curled over the mask.

He would do that a lot, to dream. Rangiku's happiness was his ultimate goal. To achieve that goal, to attain that wish, he was willing to sacrifice anything. That's why, at an early age, he'd begun stealing from renowned Shinigami to eat. That's why, at an early age, he'd starved himself just to give Rangiku a few more coins.

Fat lot of good that'd done. Rangiku had ended up a Shinigami Vice-Captain anyway.

Aizen gave him looks of trust, often even respect, and Gin knew he had won him over, no matter how much the other Shinigami denied it. Having had no companions from an early age, Gin understood that Aizen despised all but those who were even at a bare minimum of his strength. And Gin believed that he had achieved at least some portion of that strength.

He'd been such a fool.

Then the fated Winter War came. Hurting Rangiku—the hardest thing he'd ever done. The look of betrayal in her wide blue eyes—more pain than any zanpakuto could inflict. And the fear—fear that he wouldn't succeed.

He managed one swing. He managed one spilling of blood.

And suddenly, his mind was far, far away. He saw Rangiku's eyes, like the sky, blue and wide-open and free, and her smile, wide and carefree and understanding.

Rangiku, leaning over him, looking utterly shattered.

 _Please don't cry. I did this for you._

She smiled.

That was all he needed.

* * *

 **A/N: Gin's is the shortest because, well, he dies. You know, a bit hard to work with. Nothing the indestructible Kori can't handle!**


	4. Kira Izuru

Mask

* * *

The Mask of Kira Izuru

* * *

 ** **Disclaimer: If I owned Bleach, Gin and Rangiku would**** **live happily ever after. End of story.**

 ** **A/N: Sooo, Kenzie Perth, here is your second request! Izuru is as obscure as his shifty left eye, so this probs won't make much but sense, but holy shit who cares :3****

* * *

Vice-Captain of the Third Division, Kira Izuru, had a mask.

It wasn't much of a mask, really. More like a paper plate that he slapped over his face and pretended was solid, but Kira was smart. He knew he wore his heart on his sleeve, he knew he was highly susceptible.

So he didn't speak.

They weren't supposed to know. He shocked easily, surprised easily, was used easily. He was like a puppet, with the person controlling the strings able to manipulate completely and without complaint. Kira hated it, and so he remained quiet, and hoped for the best.

Poor Momo.

 _He promised you he wouldn't hurt her._

His captain was a traitor, an offender of the highest level, but one look at Matsumoto's drunk face and his hazy mind connected two and two and quickly realized that it was love.

He tried not to hate him.

He would sit in his room, try not to think of Momo, or Captain Ichimaru, or Aizen, and failing to think about anything else.

He'd lost Momo that day. It was painfully obvious but he continued to hold on to her and hope that perhaps some part of her heart still had the generosity to forgive him.

Hope was possibly the hardest thing to keep in a time like this, when you didn't know if the person you spoke to was friend or foe, if they were spy or free.

Then the Winter War trotted in. Lives lost and blood on his hands and a lackluster healing kido all helped drive him closer and closer to the edge.

That moment, as Captain Hitsugaya was blown out of the sky and Momo hiccuped "Shiro-chan...!", he knew Momo had eyes for no one else. The Captain had saved her when no one else could, and when she lost Aizen and wailed over him, understood like no one else would.

His heart clenched. Momo was never really his. He was just clinging to what he wouldn't receive.

 _You're desperate._

As the final blow fell and the war ended he gripped his arms and stared up at the sky with tears running down his face.

Kira Izuru was destined to never drop his mask—it was cruel but it was fate.

* * *

 **A/N: Isn't it so sad? At first I thought Hinamori would be Kira's "mask-remover" but then again, I think Hinamori was all for Aizen, then Toshiro, and so someone with a heart as fragile as that would never make it through with poor impulsive Izuru.**

 **And it's so fucking short! UGHGH**


	5. Hinamori Momo

Mask

* * *

The Mask of Hinamori Momo

* * *

 **Disclaimer: If I owned Bleach, Momo would be dead and Toshiro would be in crippling depression.**

 **A/N: No suggestions as of the last time I checked, so my choice! Momo has a very innocent quality; I put in a tint of madness too, surrounding Aizen, 'cause dis bitch be cray-cray for him!**

 **To Kenzie Perth: Yup! I do like Kira, and personally think there should be more of him in the series. Nemu is an interesting suggestion! Never thought about creating a mask for her. But after all, she is an Enhanced Artificial Soul, so she must have a mask of some kind to stuff all her emotions behind, especially with an abusive father personalization.**

* * *

Vice-Captain of the Fifth Division, Hinamori Momo, had a mask.

Hers was obscure. She barely had control over it and didn't know how to tell if it was on or off. She just knew her heart and what it held within.

Only Captain Aizen knew.

He was hers, and yet nobody's; he was free and justified and saw the world as his prize. What the price may be, she was willing to kill everyone she loved for him.

Who was she kidding? There was no one she loved but Aizen.

Except maybe Shiro-chan, who was all alone, who never told her anything because he didn't want her in danger.

He was delusional. With Captain Aizen around, she was perfectly safe. He was manipulating her.

She was in control of herself and herself only.

But was she really? Captain Aizen had Kyoka Suigetsu and a mind far greater than her own. He could easily pluck at the strings controlling her and make her do his bidding...

Why was she doubting him? She would do anything for him without him telling her to.

Her mask relied solely upon Aizen. Nothing more, nothing less.

In the end, that became her downfall.

[...]

"Shiro-chan..."

"Hmm?"

"Do you think... Do you think Ca—Aizen was wrong?"

"... Hinamori... Honestly? There's no good answer."

"... You're the first person to tell me that. They all have a 'yes' or 'no' or 'it depends', but Shiro-chan's answer is the straightest."

"I don't even need to explain it. Hinamori, you know already."

"Yes... I feel your hate. But... It's not right to hate someone so deeply that's already d-dead."

"Hinamori, hate doesn't work that way."

"Love does."


	6. Kurotsuchi Nemu

Mask

* * *

The Mask of Kurotsuchi Nemu

* * *

 **Disclaimer: If I owned Bleach, oh boy are the fans in for it.**

 ** **A/N: I took Kenzie Perth's suggestion of Kurotsuchi Nemu! She's a very interesting character, and you have to do a ton of reading-between-the-lines for her. I legitimately combed the Internet for what I could find and re-watched the entire "Saving Rukia" arc to get info and useful bits. I'm not sure about Kurosaki Isshin, honestly. He's more of a... Generic character. I group him in with Keigo or Mizuiro or Lisa, the idiotic perverts who know how to be serious.****

* * *

Vice-Captain of the Twelfth Division, Kurotsuchi Nemu, had a mask.

Well, she had a mask most of the time. The only time she let it down was with that Quincy, the one her father had let go. She was quite happy, she had to admit. The Quincy had saved her instead of berating her for her stupidity and lack of worth.

Some daughter she was, her father would screech.

He wasn't abusive, per se. More like he didn't know limits. Didn't know the line between experimentation and cruelty. And it was like that with his so-called daughter.

She was his example of something perfect that he had created with his own hands. So why wasn't she perfect? He'd demand. He'd made her to be perfect, so why did she display the flaws of a damned human?

She didn't have the answers, so he, being him, decided to experiment. To know the capabilities of a perfect being with an imperfect soul.

There were a young woman's screams from the Twelfth Division that night.

She learned to wipe all emotion from her face and save useless questions for herself. In just a month, her father was relatively pleased. She was exactly what he'd expected, he'd told her, adding on that he was very proud.

That was the first time Nemu ever felt pleasure.

Then the Ryoka came. And with them the Quincy.

She gave him the antidote so he wouldn't die, the man who had saved a complete stranger because of how her father acted towards her. She wondered if it was love, but she presumed that it was more of an interest—being on friendly terms with someone whom she respected.

Perhaps it was also because he was the first Quincy she'd ever met that her father hadn't killed.

His reiatsu was smothering, warm, sweet. She felt her mask drop.

And she cried.

[...]

"Ah, Nemu-san?"

"Yes?"

"Er, your f—Kurotsuchi isn't around, is he?"

"Yes."

"Uh... Thank you."

"What for?"

"For... For giving me the antidote."

"..."

"Nemu-san? Nemu-san—"

"You're very welcome."


End file.
